Friday, August 6, 2010, 10:00 a.m. Green Lake, Seattle, Washington

Thwack! My bestie cracks her beach towel against my bare thigh.

I rub the sore spot, blotchy red against my pale skin. Feeling eyes on me, I want to crawl under a rock. "What was that for?"

Shelby points toward a picnic table crowded with middle school boys. "Lighten up, McBride. No serious shit today. We're hanging out with real people."

One of the guys, a black boy named Anton, stands and waves us over.

My heart's thumping as my mind races. I never know what to say. They'd never talk to me if it weren't for Shelby.

I glance at my popular best friend. We're a weird pair. I'm freakishly tall and flat-chested. Shelby's short, muscular from playing basketball, and curvy. If we weren't magnets for dead children, would we be friends? I lean in and whisper, "You go. I'll hang back here."

With a snort, Shelby throws her arm around my shoulder and pulls me to the table.

Anton gestures toward the lake. "We're swimming. Wanna come?"

Shelby laughs. "Race you there." One long, dark braid bounces against her back as she sprints to the water.

Shoot. Six pairs of eyes stare. Think of something to say!

One boy asks, "You playing ball this year with Shelby?"

Before I can answer, another guy chimes in. "Bigfoot? She doesn't play basketball."

What would Shelby do? Make a joke or deliver a vicious arm punch. She's brave and strong. I'm the weird sidekick.

Eyeing the sand, I find a place to throw my towel.

As I walk away, someone else adds, "Bro, don't be an ass! Amber made All-State in Cross-Country."

Someone said something nice. Remember the rules. I force a smile, briefly meet his eyes, and nod in what I hope passes for, "thank you."

You're the ass, my inner critic scolds. You're nothing without Shelby.

My heart hurts as I bury my face in the towel.

Laughter fills my ears. I lift my head and see Shelby dunking Anton. She gives me the thumbs up.

Being with people is natural to Shelby. I wish I understood the rules. What to say, when to speak, what's humor versus sarcasm? Like a foreign language. She's my interpreter.

Normally, we'd dissect what the boy said. I'm 5 foot 10, check. I should be able to play basketball, but I'm a total klutz. So basketball's got nothing to do with "Bigfoot." Crap, maybe that's the point. True, yeah. Mean? You tell me.

Anton shoots up from behind Shelby, plants his hands on her shoulders and pushes her underwater.

Mean was sixth grade. Our first day of middle school, some eighth grader grabs Shelby by her backpack in the hallway. He snarls, "Redskin," and lobs a loogy in her hair.

Shelby moves fast. In a blur, she kicks his knees. With a warrior's yell, she tackles him to the ground and pounds his throat.

When the principal finally pulls her off, the bully's face is a mashup of cuts, bruises and blood. She screams, "You want a piece of me? Come and get it!"

Shelby is a Native American superhero. As no one wants a public beating, kids don't mess with her.

I glance back at the lake. No more laughter. Anton and Shelby are nose-to-nose.

In between the two, a tiny blonde head pops up. The big blue eyes of a toddler blink. Small limbs thrash around as she cries, "Mommy!"

Anton tilts his head and plants a quick kiss on Shelby's lips as the toddler slips underwater.

With a shout to the lifeguard for help, I'm up and running. When I'm waist-deep in water, I take a breath, hold it, and sink.

The lake is murky. Where is she?

Fearing the worst, I dive to the bottom. My heart is pounding as I inch along the squishy floor. Muskgrass tickles my hands with soft tendrils, then gives way to slimy sand.

With a groan, the lakebed bulges in the shape of a human head, like someone's crawling up from underneath.

Shit on a shingle! My chest burns, lungs want to burst. Pushing off from the muck, I shoot to the surface.

Anton and Shelby are treading water next to me.

Her face crinkles. "What's up?"

I gasp for air, then sputter, "That toddler was right in front of you. She's drowning!"

Shelby's frown deepens. "There's no one in the water with us."

Anton chimes in, "Haven't seen anyone, but let's ask the guys." Muscular arms arc as he swims to shore.

With a sigh, Shelby stares after Anton. When he reaches the beach, she turns to me and shakes her head. "Amber, not today."

A sick feeling grips my stomach. "I can't leave her."

"She won't be any less dead tomorrow. It can wait." With that, Shelby submerges to follow Anton.

That little girl looked so lost. For all I know, her mom's dead, too.

I tread water until my muscles cramp. No sign of the toddler.

On the sand, I see Shelby speaking with the lifeguard. I'm guessing she's telling him my outburst was a false alarm.

With a heaviness in my chest, I return to shore. Exhausted, I plop onto the beach towel next to Shelby. Reaching for my backpack, I grab my smart phone and search the Internet for "Green Lake drownings."  Wikipedia reports several deaths in 1929, but no info about the victims.

My eyes flick to the picnic table where Anton's friends huddle, laughing. The nearest boy side-eyes me. The words, "weird...strange..." reach my ears.

My skin reddens in shame. I want to disappear.

A seagull's shriek brings my attention back to the water, where the blonde head bobs once more.

Tears trickle down my cheeks as our eyes meet. Hers are wide. She gulps for air before slipping underwater.

How many times a day does she die?

Screw it. My feet pound the sandy shore to the dock. I reach the end in seconds, hold my breath, and leap into the water. Opening my eyes, I'm nose-to-nose with the toddler. Her tiny mouth opens in a scream as she inhales water. Although I know better, my hands shoot out to grab her. I clutch icy water as my fingers pass through her body.

Blonde hair floats above an angel's face as the child slowly sinks. When she's swallowed by darkness, I swim to the surface.

I gulp air in choking sobs. Me and Shelby, we've helped hundreds of ghost kids. Why is this toddler different? A glance ashore tells me no one's watching, so I put on a show of "normal" by alternating between the backstroke and floating. After a half hour, I give up and return to shore.

The instant I hit the towel, the blonde head bobs again. With a groan, I flop onto my stomach. The sun is scorching. My muscles ache. How do I help you, kid?

As the girl slips underwater, I'm lightheaded. Veins throb at my temples. Every pulsation focuses my awareness at the top of my head.

Suddenly, I'm standing at the lake's edge. I look back to Shelby and see my still form sleeping.

Oh, hell no!

Looking to my feet, I find blobs of white light, and the blond toddler, sitting in the dirt.

She scrambles to stand, then levitates to eye-level. "Find my Mommy."

Like a lost balloon, the child floats skyward.

"Wait, what's your name?" How am I talking without a body?

I watch as she disappears into the clouds.

A siren blares from the beach, tearing my attention away from the sky. Paramedics load my body onto a stretcher!

I'm in deep shit. I try to float toward the ambulance, but I don't know how to move.  How do I get back into my body? My white light dims. I'm nothing but a shadowy outline, a ghost.

The ambulance roars away. Oh my God, I can't go back!

The shriek of a hawk cuts through the sirens. I know this sound. Shelby's dad makes it to cue her entrance on the basketball court. Talons clutch my spirit self as heavy wings beat against humid air.

Another screech and the ghostly outline melts into my body. I splinter into a million pieces. I'm blood sweeping through veins. Air rushing into lungs. Brain cells firing. The universe in a single cell. Everything and nothing.

Playlist: "Why" by Supaman

https://youtu.be/OiVU-W9VT7Q